


A Close Call

by kataurah



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Season/Series 03, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23752654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kataurah/pseuds/kataurah
Summary: "Oh my god, Jack!"Well, Jack thought, head throbbing and arms currently full of frantic Phryne Fisher, this wasn't quite how he'd imagined hearing her say those words whilst clutching him this close.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 25
Kudos: 243





	A Close Call

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of a work I'd previously taken down and something that happened when I considered what Phryne's reaction might be if, later in their relationship, mid season 3 sort of time, she experienced something similar to when Jack thought she'd been in the accident in Blood at the Wheel.

"Oh my god, Jack!"

Well, Jack thought, head throbbing and arms currently full of frantic Phryne Fisher, this wasn't quite how he'd imagined hearing her say those words whilst clutching him this close. 

The last half hour - since he'd heard the crack of a gun shot, and pain had blazed, white hot, as the bullet grazed his brow, the glancing blow enough to knock him down and where the back of his head then collided solidly with the ground - had, understandably, all been a bit of a blur. Jack thought he'd probably lost consciousness for a moment, a distinct lack of awareness and painlessness that he desperately wanted to return to once the world came flooding back and his head was screaming in two separate places. The pain drowned out everything else, thudding in his ears so that Jack, initially, didn't hear his own groans, nor Collins' voice, panicked, above him.

"Sir? Sir! Oh god, please sir, can you hear me?"

Eventually he filtered through, and Jack made a noise that was intended to be the young man's name. When he tried to open his eyes, the one eyelid was sticky with blood; the warm, coppery smell hit him at the same time and Jack swallowed around a sudden swell of nausea.

"Sir, don't move," Collins was saying, hovering close but seemingly unsure of whether touching Jack was a good idea or not. "You - You're bleeding a lot, I don't... There's an ambulance coming, the lady in the house over the road... she heard the gunshot. She called the hospital and the station for me."

Ah, that's right, they'd been chasing up their suspect's last known address; clearly it hadn't been as unoccupied as it'd seemed.

"I couldn't leave you." Collins said, and the tremor in his voice had Jack blinking again, fighting to focus properly against the black spots dancing in his vision. His young constable's face swam into view, pale, pinched in worry; Jack reached out a hand to grasp him just above the elbow,

"S'alright, Collins." His voice sounded rough and slurred to his own ears, and if anything his attempt at reassurance only served to make Collins worry more. Jack debated trying to sit up, wondering if he'd hit his head hard enough to fracture it or damage his spine at all, and whether any attempt would result in him losing what little he'd had to eat that day. Funnily enough, the gunshot wound was the least of his worries. The thought of just how narrowly he'd escaped death was being pushed firmly to the back of his mind, to join old memories of shell and mortar explosions, and chaotic, rapid gunfire overhead.

Jack was starting to feel the cold ground seeping through his coat, and, despite the pounding in his head and the blood that continued to weep from at least one of his injuries, decided he'd done quite enough lying around. He pushed himself up so he was sitting, and sucked in a breath, waiting for the dizziness to subside.

"Sir, maybe we should just wait -"

"You can either help me up, Collins, or watch me struggle."

Collins relented, perhaps finally realising that arguing with his senior officer was a waste of time (even if he was probably right in this case, Jack conceded in the privacy of his own thoughts, but he felt so damned helpless and stupid just lying there) and then Jack felt Hugh's arm, strong and sturdy, hooked under his elbow and hauling him to his feet. The world tilted and for a moment the ground felt like it was moving beneath him, like he was standing on the deck of a ship, and Jack had to close his eyes and hold on to Hugh a little longer - though his constable made no comment this time, remaining a silent, steady presence that Jack was profoundly grateful for - in order to get his bearings.

When it seemed that he could stand unaided, and his sight was no longer blurred or obstructed, Jack tried to assess the damage. A shaking hand gingerly prodding at the back of his head brought forth a fresh bloom of pain and bloodied fingers when he drew back from the lump that was already forming there.

"Wonderful," Jack muttered. He had no idea how bad the bullet graze was to look at, but it couldn't have been too bad since Collins, though he was pale, didn't look as though he was about to throw up. Blood had run in rivulets down the side of his face though; his shirt and suit jacket were probably ruined.

"An ambulance, Collins?"

"Uh, yes sir. I asked Mrs - _Mrs Adler!_ " He suddenly raised his voice, calling to the elderly lady across the street who was now hovering in her doorway, and waving her over to them. Jack's head protested at the shout but Collins didn't seem to catch his wince. Mrs Adler toddled over, pulling her coat tighter around her against the night chill. "Mrs Adler very kindly helped us out and called for an ambulance."

"You could just as easily have driven me to the hospital, Collins." Jack said, already tired at the thought of having to wait around longer to have nurses and doctors prodding and poking at him.

"You haven't seen yourself, my boy!" Mrs Adler piped up, suddenly, with more strength and conviction in her voice than Jack would have expected, "You look a right mess! Those gunshots frightened the life out of me, and when I saw you lying in the street I thought you were dead! So yes, you bloody well do need an ambulance!" And she fixed him with a no nonsense look that reminded Jack irresistibly of Miss Fisher; she'd like her, he was sure of it.

Except that was a meeting that would not be taking place because Jack would prefer the less people knew about this incident the better. But didn't Collins also say...?

"Did you call the station, too, Mrs Adler?" Jack asked with a sinking feeling.

"Well, your young man here asked me to!"

" _Why_ , Collins?"

"I- I thought they should know, sir? And that maybe we need back up?"

"Back up? If the shooter has even a lick of sense he'll be on the other side of the city by now."

Jack knew there wasn't a hope in hell of tracking him down tonight. "What did they say, Mrs Adler? At the station?"

"I talked to a lovely sounding young man who seemed very worried but assured me that he'd let the right people know what had happened, before a woman grabbed the telephone off him and started talking far too quickly for me to follow."

If Jack had thought he'd felt tired before, his whole body now sank in resignation whilst remaining tense with anticipation; he _wanted_ to see her, he almost always did, and in the aftermath of a near death experience came the need to draw close the things - the _people_ \- he held dear. On the other hand, he longed for a stiff drink and his bed so he could forget about this whole sorry day.

"The poor girl sounded very upset," Mrs Adler continued, and it took Jack a moment to realise she was still talking about Phryne. "I didn't know what to tell her, I didn't know if you were alive at that point."

Oh god, this was going to be _bad_ , Jack thought. For all that it had hurt unbearably to think that she had died in a car accident, he'd never wished for her to know that feeling for herself. He'd never wanted her to get a taste of her own medicine, not like that... Still, he imagined Phryne would brush off a near death experience like it was nothing but a mild inconvenience.

He'd probably get a scolding for not reacting and ducking in time.

"C -Collins!" Jack barked, hating the waver in his voice; whether it was from the cold or the emotions forcing their way up his throat no matter how hard he tried to swallow them down. "If Mrs Adler would be kind enough to let you use her telephone again, see if you can get in touch with Wardlow."

Jack felt raw and frayed, like an exposed nerve, and felt unable to move from his spot as he watched them walk away, Hugh casting nervous glances back in his direction. His body was thrumming from the adrenaline crash no doubt, his mind unable to focus, buzzing with half formed thoughts that he couldn't get a handle on; idly he wondered if he was going into shock.

He didn't notice the ambulance arrive until a bustling nurse gently but quickly - with an air of competence and pragmatism that he could admire - ushered Jack over to the van so he could sit down and she could check him over. He allowed himself to be manoeuvred: his head hadn't stopped bleeding but the throbbing of his wounds had dulled a little; enough to warrant taking a powder along with a whiskey before bed, but bearable.

Until a very distinctive Hispano-Suiza roared onto the scene and Jack watched as Phryne Fisher practically threw herself from the vehicle, her eyes wide and frightened and looking paler than he'd ever seen her. That discerning gaze darted around the scene before landing on him and she took a great gasping lungful of air, as if she'd been without a breath since she'd heard, second hand, about the shooting.

Then she was rushing towards him ("Oh my god, Jack!") and Jack stood to meet her as she threw her arms around him, ignoring the protests of the nurse by his side who had been jostled out of the way. And though he still felt dizzy, and could feel the pounding of his increased heart rate in his wounded head, Jack followed his instincts and held Phryne back, closing his eyes and squeezing just as tightly.

"I thought..." Was all she could choke out, her voice wavering in a way he'd never heard before, "I thought you were..."

"I know," Jack rumbled, turning his face into her hair and inhaling deeply, trying to fill all of his senses with the woman he loved; the both of them alive and clinging to each other, propriety be damned. He realised she was actually trembling against him. "I'm sorry. The woman who called the station, she didn't know it wasn't serious."

At this Phryne pulled back, only so far as to look at him incredulously, remaining in the loose circle of his arms that seemed to refuse to let go, "Not _serious?_ Jack, you're covered in blood!" Her voice cracked again on the last word as her eyes, looking suspiciously glazed and shining, flicked upwards to the bullet graze on his brow. "It could so easily have killed you." She observed, horror dawning on her, and reached up to touch his face with gentle fingers; the intimacy of the gesture, and of the soft press of her body leaning into his, made Jack's breath catch in his throat.

"Phryne," He murmured, and she stopped examining his wound to return her gaze to his, "I'm alright. I'm still here."

It wasn't until later that he realised he'd unconsciously echoed her words to him, back when he'd thought he'd lost her and the agony of it had blindsided him so completely. "I'm still here," she'd said, but Jack had still been caught up in all the what-ifs nonetheless. Caught up in the intensity of his feelings for her, which he'd thought he'd realised too late. Now Phryne too, it seemed, was gripped by the fear of what had _almost_ happened, more so than Jack himself.

Her eyes flitted all over his face now, fingers still, almost absentmindedly, brushing down his cheek and straying dangerously close to his lips. As though she was memorising him, Jack thought, wondering if she had any idea of how often he'd done the same; over and over until he could be sure her features were branded into his memory. The rest of the world felt dizzyingly far away and fuzzy, but Phryne before him was vibrant and clear and so, _so_ close.

Shaken as he was, defences lowered, Jack would've easily let himself fall into her this time, submit to her arms, her lips, had the nurse at his side, forgotten by them both, not cleared her throat and broken the spell.

"Sir? Inspector?" Phryne startled only a little; only someone who knew her well, as Jack did, could've noticed, but as they both came back down to earth she seemed stunned, perhaps by the strength of her own emotions? Her hand dropped from his face to the relative safety of his lapel as she stepped away only a little for them both to turn towards the nurse, who continued, "Best that we get you to the hospital so a doctor can check you over, just to be safe."

Jack inwardly groaned. "It's not necessary, I'll be fine."

"You have a concussion, and you're still bleeding!"

"Jack, she's right." Phryne still looked worried and pale as he met her gaze, silently pleading, willing her to know his mind as she had so many times before.

"I'm sure a bandage will suffice, won't it?"

"You might need stitches, Inspector." The nurse was starting to sound impatient.

"Miss Fisher has medical training," He blurted out, ignoring Phryne's startled look, "I'm sure you can leave me in her capable hands."

"Jack -" Phryne started apprehensively; it was a testament to how shaken she was that she was doubtful of this plan, or that she didn't make some flirtatious comment about her "capable hands."

" _Phryne_." Jack returned, hearing himself on the verge of begging. He was just so damn tired and he wanted to go home. He felt a strange pang in his chest when he realised he'd conjured the image of Wardlow in his mind when he thought of home.

Phryne softened, giving the smallest of nods before turning to the nurse, "I'll take care of him," Noticing the other woman draw a breath to protest, she added, "And I promise I will telephone the hospital if anything seems even the slightest bit wrong."

Jack felt himself sag with relief, sure that Phryne must have felt it where she maintained contact with him because she briefly touched his cheek again and gave him a reassuring smile that still seemed a little wobbly, then moved aside for the nurse to patch him up and send them on their way. Jack paused in getting into the Hispano, wondering suddenly what had happened to his hat after it had fallen off when he hit the ground, but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind, Hugh appeared at his side holding it.

"Here, sir." Jack took it, nodding gratefully and then wincing; he really needed to stop moving his head completely. "I'll, um - I'll take care of the report, sir, you just rest. And let me know if you need anything?"

Jack felt a bloom of affection then for Hugh Collins and his steadfast, loyal support, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Hugh."

He resisted the urge to laugh at Hugh's slightly stunned expression, clapping him once more on the arm before climbing in the car.

He noticed along the way that Phryne's driving was remarkably more careful than usual, but she was uncharacteristically quiet and so Jack decided not to comment on it. He rested his head back on the seat, careful not to put pressure on the lump from where he'd collided with the pavement, and soon he felt himself drifting. Until Phryne broke the silence:

"Jack," Her hand was on his leg, "Jack, don't fall asleep."

"Mmm, m'not." He grumbled, eyes still closed.

"Are you quite sure about that?" She asked, sardonically.

"Eyes on the road, Miss Fisher." He replied, still without looking at her, and a little huff of breath told him that perhaps he'd drawn a smile out of her.

He was, in truth, fighting sleep though, and felt relieved when they finally pulled up at her home. Mr Butler answered the door, and the only indication of his concern on his otherwise unflappable countenance was a slight crease between his eyebrows as he took them in: Jack, in his bloodstained clothing and absurd bandage wrapped around his head, and Phryne, with her arm wrapped around his waist for support even though he'd told her he could walk just fine on his own, _thank you, Miss Fisher_.

He ushered them through the door with a soft, "What do you need, Miss?" and whilst Phryne was talking to him, Miss Williams entered the foyer. Dot's reaction was far less restrained.

"Inspector! Oh my -!" Her eyes went wide, darting between Jack and Phryne.

"Do I really look that bad?" Jack asked, trying for humour that did nothing to dissolve the shock on the young woman's face.

"Yes." Phryne answered, bluntly, and he rolled his eyes at her.

"What happened, Miss?" Dot followed them into the parlour, where Jack collapsed gratefully onto the chaise and decided he wasn't going to move again for the rest of the night.

He let his sore, tired body sink into the cushions, closed his eyes again, the others' voices fading into the background, and tried desperately to ignore the way the gunshot still rang in his ears, or remember the searing sensation of the bullet, or the way he'd been sure, for a moment, that this was how he died. His head throbbed, a shockwave of that first explosion of pain, and a small pained noise escaped his throat before he could swallow it down.

"Jack?" Phryne was suddenly there, warm beside him, and he cracked open an eye to find her hovering close, looking almost pained herself. Her hand covered his where it lay in his lap, "You're shaking."

Frowning, he lifted his other hand and regarded the minute tremors as it if it didn't belong to him. Well damn, so he was. No doubt a mixture of shock, exhaustion, pain, and there was the fact that, in his dogged pursuit of the suspect, he hadn't eaten all day.

"Delayed shock, I imagine." He offered, with a shrug and a quirk of his mouth. "Perhaps a drink?" Not the best idea on an empty stomach, he thought, but he wanted something to relax him and calm his nerves; to quiet his mind. Phryne was looking doubtful again until Jack said, "I'm sure that would be Doctor Macmillan's recommended course of treatment."

She smiled then, and it was like something that had been displaced in the universe all evening righted itself; Phryne Fisher was smiling at him, and for a moment Jack felt like he could live off that alone. But then she left his side briefly to return with a glass of whiskey, and that, he decided as he sipped appreciatively, was even better.

The alcohol burned on the way down and warmed his belly, and Phryne's body was nestled close to his, her knees touching his thigh where she had curled her legs up beneath her. Jack hummed, content. He knew his inhibitions were lowered, still out of sorts from all that had happened that night, and the alcohol would only serve to lower them further, but he was struck by the trust he had in Phryne when he found it didn't bother him. Rather, he trusted _her_ , of course he did, but he didn’t trust _himself_ when he was around her.

A few moments of peaceful silence passed where Jack took a few more generous sips of his drink and started to feel it spreading through his veins, like warm, thick honey. He let the familiarity of this room and the company of the woman next to him wash over him, finding safety and comfort.

"If you fall asleep you know I'm just going to have to wake you up again."

He turned his lounging head to face her as she smiled at him, fondly, "Because otherwise my brains might leak out of my ears."

She nodded in mock-seriousness, "We can't have that, Inspector."

"I wouldn't be much use to you then."

Some fleeting emotion passed over her face that Jack couldn't name, but she had looked unhappy. Then it was gone and she was reaching over his prone body to loosen his tie, and Jack was hit by a sense of deja vu.

"You can't stay in these clothes, you look like a crime scene." He snorted; she had at least recovered enough from the evening's events that she could say things like that again. "Perhaps Mr Butler and Dot can salvage them?"

His tie was gone and she started on his shirt buttons, leaning temptingly close, pressed along his side. Even as he stilled her hands with his own in what he imagined would be little more than a token protest, Jack took a moment to observe her. Her lipstick was a little faded (perhaps she'd been biting her lip in worry?) and the slightest smudges of her make up in the corners of her eyes hinted at the presence of tears. She was no longer quite as pale as she'd been for most of the evening, the warmth and comfort of home, combined with good whiskey, had brought hints of a flush to her cheeks, and her bright blue eyes regarded him with characteristic playfulness and affection. She - as always - took his breath away.

"Honestly, Phryne, I'm too tired to care."

She batted his hands away, as he knew she would, and continued with her task.

"I'm tired of looking at your blood, Jack." She countered, her voice only a little strained.

Jack shut up and let her do what she wanted after that.

He fought to control his breathing, his head swimming, as she helped him take off his bloodstained shirt and suit jacket, unable to stop thinking that she'd done this before, though he'd been unconscious at the time, and how long would it be before they had the pleasure of mutually undressing each other? Phryne let him keep his trousers and singlet, thank god, though her hands still brushed against the bare skin of his neck, his arms, in a way that he swore lingered a little too long. He wasn't about to complain, proprietary clearly something he'd lost control of long ago when it came to her.

When she disappeared with his clothes and a murmur of, "I'm sure Mr Butler will have a shirt..." he took another gulp of whiskey, feeling exposed, but she returned soon enough with the promised clean shirt.

Jack shrugged it on, his limbs feeling heavy, and gave up on trying to button it up, as Phryne moved to stand behind him. He started, then shivered, when he felt her fingers in his hair, combing gently through loosened waves and trying to ascertain the damage to the back of his head. Her touch was careful until she pressed a little too hard in the wrong place and Jack flinched with a gasp.

"Sorry..." She murmured, sweeping her thumb over the nape of his neck in apology, "That's going to be a pretty sizeable lump by tomorrow. You could have cracked your head open."

There was that strain, that forced lightness in her tone again, and he followed her with increasingly heavy eyes as she circled round to settle next to him again. She had been right, as bloody usual, he did feel more comfortable in clean clothes, and he could feel sleep tugging at the edges of his consciousness. Maybe she would let him rest, just for a while...

The next thing he knew he was rousing to the soft brush of her fingertips over his forehead and his name falling from her lips, imploring but quiet. He must have drifted off, he realised, opening his eyes to find Phryne watching him intently, a strange, aching expression on her face. She was toying with the curls that had fallen loose, his hair having lost its carefully maintained style hours ago.

He frowned, still half asleep; her eyes seemed to glisten in the low lighting.

"Mmm, what is it?"

Phryne took a deep breath, her hand fell away and Jack instantly missed the soothing touch.

"When... When I heard..." Her voice was tight with emotion, "That you'd been shot, I just..." He'd never known her to have such a hard time getting words out, "It felt like..."

He already knew, his mind flashing back in time to that agonising feeling, and, hanging in that space between sleep and wakefulness, he mumbled without thinking, "Like the world had come crashing down."

The bare truth seemed to shatter something in the air between them, defying everything they kept unspoken. Jack struggled against the fog in his mind, feeling as though he was missing the significance of the conversation.

Phryne drew a sharp breath and whispered, "Yes... Honestly, I don't know what I would've done."

His heart seemed to stutter in his chest, the implications of what she could possibly mean reeling, chaotic, in his head. But Jack knew her; he knew her strength, her resilience, and her endless capacity for love and life.

"I do..." He said, with quiet conviction, even as his eyes fell closed again. "You're Phryne Fisher. You'd be alright."

Sinking back into oblivion, Jack never heard her shaky response:

"No... I really don't think I would."


End file.
